The Link Between The Worlds
by Phire Phoenix
Summary: -One Shot- Every night, Harry dreams of the same thing - the stone archway, and what could be behind those mysterious curtains. Every night, it earns him torment and pain, but one night is different... Spoiler to the fifth book, Read and Review


*Spoiler Alert* this fic reveals who dies in the fifth book to even the densest of people *wink*  
  
"Sirius? Are you there?" Harry asked tentatively, standing beneath the giant archway, a mildly interested Luna Lovegood standing by his side. "Mom? Dad?" He reached out to touch the curtain, but as he did so, a searing flash of pain shot through his scar. He clutched it in agony, and through the haze that had started to develop in front of his eyes, saw a dark, tall figure emerge from behind the curtains.  
  
"Harry Potter..." The voice that emanated from it was slippery and cold, like the owner had long forgotten how emotions worked. It sounded vaguely familiar, yet strange to Harry, who was now on his knees, struggling to retain consciousness. Blinking up at the figure, he noticed that a hood concealed the face, and he was overcome with a furious curiosity to know who was speaking. "Harry Potter..." The voice said again, this time with a hint of amusement.  
  
The person lifted a hand and threw back the hood, and for a moment Harry stared into those blood-red eyes, eyes that did not tell of the person's soul, perhaps because he had none. Luna gasped, but she was no longer part of the scene. It's as though she had been separated from the two by an invisibly force. But the moment passed and anguish like he had never felt before beleaguered him and he screamed out in torment.  
  
The aforementioned Potter boy sat up abruptly in his bed, panting. He noticed with distress that both his pillow and his comforter were on the floor. Still breathing heavily, he bent down and picked them up, then shoving them into a pile at the head of his bed, onto which he collapsed. The fabric and stuffing concealed him completely, and for a moment there was silence.  
  
But slowly, gradually small, strangled sobs started to make themselves known to the world. Harry's body was shaking as he pounded the mountain of soft stuffing with his fist. Muffled cries of grief resounded in the small bedroom, not loud enough to wake the other occupants of Number Four, Privet Drive, but certainly enough to stir a large snowy owl in its cage. The familiar peered at her master anxiously and clicked her beak softly.  
  
Harry looked up and the owl and gave it a faint smile. He wiped the tears off his face, and ruffled the comforter so that the tear-strained side would be on top. Climbing back into bed, his eyes fell on the brown photo album Hagrid had given him in his first year. Slowly he reached over, and by the light of the streetlights outside that flowed into his room through the window, looked at each picture bemusedly.  
  
He had been flipping absentmindedly through the album for a few minutes when his eyes rested on one in particular he hadn't given much thought before. Perhaps it was because it had seemed insignificant, or perhaps he had been too caught up looking at the wedding pictures. But the one he was staring at now was one where four people sat on the grass, near the lake on Hogwarts grounds, laughing and drinking pumpkin juice.  
  
He was seeing sixteen year old versions of Lily Evans, James Potter, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.  
  
He took in each intricate little detail, before settling on Sirius. The family he had most recently lost, his godfather had died without even being cleared. After fourteen year of misunderstanding, he had died without even having the wizard world know he was innocent. Fourteen years...Fourteen long years of imprisonment, hiding, always seeking for opportunities...whatever happened to people getting their just reward? Why had fate, for once, ignored the reward Sirius should have gotten; clear of charges, starting a new life, able to walk into the streets as a man, and without people chasing him?  
  
Tears welled up in his eyes once more. He loathed himself for them. Be strong, he told himself. Sirius would not want you to cry like this, he tried to reason. Crying would make you vulnerable to attacks, a little voice in the back of his head piped up. But right now, he didn't care, and couldn't have repressed the bout of tears that were streaming down his face even if he had tried to.  
  
Dreams plagued his nightly sleep; ghastly dreams, bringing him closer to Sirius, giving him hope, then snatching it all away again; dreams that exposed his emotions, his vulnerable side; dreams that turned inevitably into nightmares.  
  
Ever since that fateful trip to the Department of Mysteries, Harry hadn't been able to sleep in comfort. In all truth, he was never a heavy sleeper and usually woke at the smallest sounds, but this was different. He would wake up from a dreaming, sweating and panting. What good is the fact that he falls asleep easily, if it's because he hadn't been able to sleep for more than half an hour at the time? What's the use of sleeping again, if he was just going to be woken up thirty minutes later by yet another bout of terror?  
  
Sirius remains the main subject. Harry, through his subconscious eye, saw him being tortured, fitted under the Cruciatus curse, shot, dying through every way known to Muggle or Wizard, although he had witnessed the actual death of his godfather. These spawns of his guilt and imagination ended always in the stone arc. Harry found himself trying to explain his innocence, trying to explain his guilt, trying to reassure Sirius, trying to reassure himself, and recently, trying to talk to Sirius at all.  
  
For some reason, Luna always seemed to accompany him; that dreamy expression forever plastered on her face. She was a bystander, a nobody, yet Harry felt that she was his guide. Voldemort, too, was another returning guest to these lovely dreams. The Dark Lord took pleasure in tormenting Harry both emotionally and physically, and in fact, it is these torments that wake Harry every night.  
  
Harry buried his face in his pillow. Turning so he ways lying on his stomach, he tried to get back to sleep. Hedwig unlatched the door to her cage. Harry had taught her to do that at the beginning of the year, so she could come and leave anytime the she wished. This time, however, the faint click of the latch didn't signify the soon-to-be absence of the bird, but her well meanings. She flew over to Harry's night table and from there, hopped unto his shoulder. With soft cooing accompanying every action, she repeatedly lowered her wing over Harry's head, as though telling all will be ok, and it will be all right.  
  
Harry lifted his head blearily, and goggled at his loyal owl. "Thanks" he muttered. He drifted off to an uneasy sleep, with Hedwig still patting his head and hooting softly, like a human being who had feelings and understanding.  
  
~*~  
  
Harry didn't even bother going downstairs the next day. He could live off the pastries that Mrs. Weasley had sent him, and the Dursleys sure as heck didn't care where he was. He just made sure that they saw him on their way upstairs, so they wouldn't get any ideas.  
  
He attempted to rid himself of his misery by getting a head start on his homework. All day, he basked in the bliss of concentration, of being so stressed that he didn't have time or room for anything else. But as night fell, the usual desperation took over again.  
  
Hedwig hadn't left in three days, and she usually went out hunting every two days. Her amber eyes fixed Harry with a penetrating stare, and once again she flew over to Harry's nightstand, to pick up where she left off yesterday. Harry stroked her gratefully.  
  
"You know, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were an Animagus." He whispered, and sank onto the bed. Perhaps it was the fatigue from doing homework, perhaps it was Hedwig, or perhaps the two combined, but this dream was a far cry from what he had been experiencing for the last three weeks.  
  
The first thing he noticed was that Luna wasn't there. He frowned for a moment, but decided to ignore it. He was standing in the doorway that led to the hall with the stone archway, as usual, but this time, the anticipation that he felt wasn't laced with fear. His wand gripped tightly in his hand, he advanced forward cautiously, the memory of his last dream etched in his brain.  
  
He had gone no more than two or three paces before he stopped dead. This was all wrong. He wasn't supposed to know what happened before! He never did! He never had his wand, either...Luna was always with him, even if she never spoke. What was wrong with him?  
  
He took a deep breath and started forward again. He could hear whispered voices behind the curtain. Some of them sounded familiar, some of them sounded strange. Casting a weary look around the room, Harry felt like he needed company.  
  
"Expecto Patronum..." He whispered, as Prongs darted out of the tip of his wand. The silver creature gazed at him, in an almost bemused way before darting to his side and nuzzling him. This was peculiar behaviour in a Patronus, but Harry was beyond caring.  
  
Together, they stepped in front of the curtain, and this time, Harry took initiative. He took a few steps back, a safe distance away and blasted the curtains open.  
  
Whatever he was expecting, it certainly wasn't this.  
  
A great, magnificent mirror stood against the curtain, with a blue haze surrounding it. It got thinner and thicker as Harry watched, but the moment he stepped forward, it cleared and Harry was able to see it more clearly. It looked exactly like the Mirror of Erised, except the writing around it was different. Ceux qui sont morts ne sont pas veritablement morts, et ceux qui vivent ne sont pas vivant en verite, mais tous ce qui est important c'est le lien entre les mondes.*  
  
Harry recognised it as French, but he didn't understand what it meant. And what was a French Mirror doing in the Department of Mysteries, behind a curtain that allegedly let you talk to the dead?  
  
He closed his eyes, calmed himself, and felt the cool telltale breath of his Patronus down his neck. Opening them, he stepped forward and looked closer at the mirror.  
  
He could see himself, his Patronus, and - his mom, dad and Sirius. Further off in the background, other people loomed. The most discernible was Cedric Diggory, although Harry saw some other familiar faces.  
  
"Sirius! Mom! Dad!" He exclaimed, walking closer still, although his dad's behaviour when he was younger nagged at the back of his head. Prongs snorted and bounded ahead to stare at James. Lily beamed and walked, while still in the mirror, closer to Prongs and reached out as if to touch it - and she did. Sirius grinned.  
  
"I'm glad you came, mate." Sirius told him, a smile appearing on his face. Harry jumped a bit. He wasn't surprised to see people reflected who weren't actually standing in front of the mirror, he was used to that. But actually communicating with them...this is, undoubtedly, what Luna had meant. James and Lily turned to him, too, pride shining on their faces.  
  
"We never really got a chance to talk, did we?" James said quietly, staring into Harry's face. Lily winked. "Oh Harry..." She moaned, and threw her arms around the mirror Harry. The 3-D version suddenly felt warmth surge through his body, and the throbbing in his scar ceased.  
  
Harry opened his mouth, but Sirius held up a hand to silence him. "Before you say anything, anything at all, I want you to know this" he stared into Harry's face, dead serious. "It's not your bloody fault. It's. Not. Your. Bloody. Fault. Listen to me. Don't go blaming yourself for what happened. It's not your fault." Harry choked. James watched him with a strange look on his face.  
  
"We're all proud of you, Harry." Sirius continued quietly. "You did more than what anyone would have asked of you, and more than what you would have asked of yourself. Keep your chin up, and smile. You'll need it, and I know you'll survive. Oh, and give Kreacher a good kick up the rear end for me, would you?" Sirius winked, and Harry smiled weakly.  
  
Lily took over then. "Harry, darling..." She whispered, still clinging to the mirror Harry. "I love you. I'm sorry we couldn't protect you, and I'm sorry you had to grow up such a miserable life. We failed you, but despite that, you grew up responsible, mature, and a great young man. You are an example, remember that, and don't let anyone get you down...We'll always be here, if you need us, and I'm sure you can find a way to sneak back here."  
  
"Lily." James interrupted gently. Lily winced, but nodded resolutely. "Harry," she said again, and sighed, "You're technically not supposed to contact us. It doesn't do to dwell on past memories."  
  
"But Luna talks to her mom!" Harry called out frantically. He couldn't let this go, not when he had something similar to a family he could visit at night.  
  
"And so she does." James replied absentmindedly. "But Luna is a Shaman. A very weak one, true, and her abilities only include vision into the realm of the dead, and she doesn't know that she is one, but it's enough for her. I'm surprised you can use this mirror at all, to say the truth." Harry gaped at his parents. "A shaman is the link between the worlds." James added, at Harry's blank look.  
  
"I'm sure Magic will allow you to talk to us...maybe once in one or two years...but no more than that." Lily wiped a tear off her face.  
  
"You're not even supposed to do that." Sirius chided softly. He fixed Harry with his gaze again. "Someday, Harry. Someday, when you are trained in the art of seeing, then you will be allowed to communicate. Seeing, divination is an art, and it's only granted to few, but you may have potential...like the day on your Divination exam, when you predicted Buckbeak flying away safely. Scared old Trelawney, you did" Harry chuckled.  
  
"Maybe." He told himself. The chances weren't high, but maybe.  
  
"Harry." James called, catching the boy's attention again. "I realize we have never been there for you, and we are truly sorry you had to have such a hard life, but perhaps we can redeem this now, boy. Talk..."  
  
Without any further explanation, Harry knew what his father meant. Perhaps it was the blood tie, or perhaps it was just the fact that he had been yearning to hear this since he was young, but he sat down on the floor and did just that. Talk. Prongs settled down beside him, his silver head resting on his lap.  
  
Harry poured his heart out, telling his parents all the worries of woes, everything that's happened to him since his fifth birthday. As the tale progressed, the faces of his parents - all three of them - grew longer and sadder. While Sirius was more informed, he never dreamed it'd be like this. It seemed as though days went by while Harry's mouth never got dry. His talk didn't contain any traces of self-pity, just resignation and a bit of bitterness. His eyes were that of an adult, something that caused tears to come to Lily's eyes.  
  
When Harry finished, he didn't look at his parents. But another surge of warmth told him all three of them were hugging his mirror reflection. Prongs lifted his head and nibbled at his ear affectionately.  
  
A distant noise brought Harry back to his senses. He looked up at the three adults and smiled cynically.  
  
"I have to go now." He told them firmly. They all smiled sorrowfully, and as the blue haze started to envelop the mirror, they started to fade.  
  
"Remember, Harry, we're proud of you!" Sirius called after him.  
  
"Keep your chin up, and never lose hope!" James stated.  
  
"We'll always be in your dreams, even if you may not realize it!" Lily's voice was stricken.  
  
"And, Harry..." James stopped uncertainly. Harry stopped the action of taking out his wand and coaxing Prongs into getting up, and stared at the mirror. His father's face was almost completely gone, but Harry could still see a trace of regret. "Tell Snape I'm sorry...for everything." Harry nodded.  
  
"I'll be back!" He shouted, as he and Prongs sprinted out of the door. But Harry knew that he wouldn't be, not for a long time. And as tears flew down his face while he jolted down the corridor of the Department of Mysteries and into the main foyer of the Ministry of Magic, he smiled foolishly. He might not be able to talk to his parents, but it was a little inconvenience. Tonight's events had done him good, and he knew he would take the advice of his three parental figures. Prongs snorted again and disappeared when they emerged into the light of day. He blinked and found himself in his bed, Hedwig asleep on the nightstand and light streaming through the curtain-less window.  
  
He had Luna to thank for that talk. He must remember to express his gratitude.  
  
How did the mirror work, anyway?  
  
~*~  
  
*Those who are dead are not truly dead, and those who live are not truly living, all that matters is the link between the worlds.  
  
Oh, and I couldn't find a good place to put this in: The mirror shows you dead people that you knew, or knew you, in life... 


End file.
